


Dark and Full of Terrors

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, F/M, Horror, Human Sacrifice, Mad Scientists, One-Shots, prompt fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: A collection of Jaime/Brienne horror ficlets





	1. Butterfly Jars

Sansa Stark lay limp upon the stainless steel table. She was awake, but barely. She had an inane grin on her pretty face, and hummed tunelessly as figures in scrubs manhandled her like a rag doll. A benignly smiling Dr Qyburn strolled forwards, tugging on his plastic gloves. An IV line stood waiting beside the table, a pleasing purple liquid bubbling in the bag.

“All set then?”Qyburn asked mildly, readying a needle to go into Sansa's hand. He looked over the willowy red head with pleasure, “I wouldn't wonder if she is to be the jewel of the exhibition,”

Said exhibition featured featured men and women of light hair, dark hair, pouting lips and laughing eyes. Twelve in total, soon to be thirteen. Brienne had counted as she and Jaime crept past each one, swallowing down their revulsion and dismay to find the Stark girl.

Months of endless investigation, of tracking down every lead and scrutinising every detail and living on nothing but coffee and good intentions; led to them to an isolated compound surrounded by wilderness. Disguised as guards, they broke in and came across the exhibition. In a long, sparkling gallery of mirrored walls and crystal chandeliers, with a red velvet carpet running down the middle were the missing. They were suspended in body size jars, floating in a clear goo that preserved them perfectly. Gentle, flattering lights shone down upon them, showcasing the glisten of their flawless skin.

They saw Margaery Tyrell, with her curves and doe like eyes, beaming out at them. There was Lyanna Stark's ebony waist long hair fanning out around her like a black halo. Rhaegar Targaryen's purple eyes and silver locks gazed out dreamily, beside a laughing Renly Baratheon. On and on they walked passed the hovering beauties.

At the end was Jaime's sister. Thick blonde waves and cold green eyes stared down arrogantly at her spectators. Jaime drew to a halt before her, knees failing him.

Brienne hissed into Jaime's ear, a secure hand clutched around his arm. “We have to get moving. We need to find Sansa,”

And so they kept walking. They walked past the display area and the carpeted steps, down into the white tiled hospital area. There they found Dr Qyburn's lab, Sansa Stark inside ready to become exhibit thirteen.

Crouched and ready to move, they waited for their cue. The seconds ticked by as Qyburn approached Sansa, needle poised.

“We have to move now,” Brienne whispered. Jaime nodded and guns aloft, they burst into the lab.

#

Sansa Stark was with her parents. A non-mad doctor checked her over as the last of the drugs wore off.

The other exhibits were less lucky. Qyburn had stopped their hearts before immersing them into the goo. Now captured, the obliging gentleman seemed perfectly willing to indulge them by explaining his method of preservation. How they would be gassed with a gas of his own creation, something to induce light giddiness and laughter.

“Nothing too potent,” Qyburn assured them, “We wouldn't want their faces to get too distorted. Just something to bring out their pretty smiles,”

The exhibits would then be lowered into the goo, all the while a slow working poison coursed through their veins and stopped their hearts.

Jaime listened to this with an impassive face, before reaching out and slamming Qyburn face first against the desk. Brienne watched as Qyburn's nose shattered and blood spurted out, but stopped Jaime before he could go any further.

Seeing Cersei there, so lifelike and perfect, Jaime could not help but hope she lived still.

“We saved Sansa,” Brienne said, comforting herself as much as Jaime, “And who knows how many others. Qyburn is being compliant, we will find out who paid him to do this and bring them to justice,”

And yet as more conspirators emerged, mad men splashing out millions to fund Qyburn's exhibit, the horror that had settled upon Brienne and Jaime lingered still. Nightmares of the museum poisoned their dreams, walking down the never-ending row of corpses only to find the other's face staring out at them through the glass. Jaime flinched at every hospital scene on TV and Brienne shuddered at even the sight of a jam jar.

Needless to say, museums were avoided at all cost.

 


	2. That Which He Holds Dearest

He thought the cult was a fraud, or a scam. Some con played by Melisandre Asshai to pray on the lonely and vulnerable, same shtick as usual. Maybe if he was lucky there would be a group orgy or two.

Instead what he got was a bunch of leeches and blood lettings. Everyone involved consented, but Jaime didn't think for one minute that was the end of it. The frenzied madness in the air as the service continued had Jaime both certain of two things. One, the ritual of the cult could only get weirder and two, he was going to need a new pair of pants.

(And these were good pants as well. Ones worn with the knowledge that a group orgy may occur and he would need to pair himself off with a fanatical follower of fire.)

“You're not a true believer,”

Jaime shot round to see the tall, ugly cult member watching him. Jaime gripped his car keys, hands still trembling from the display earlier. The woman stepped forward, hands raised in a show of peace.

“Neither am I,” she whispered.

Jaime frowned. He looked around and on ensuring no one else was near, he opened his car door. “Get into the car,” he ordered. She hesitated, but on seeing his badge she obeyed.

“Talk,” he said brusquely.

“I'm a reporter,” the woman explained. Jaime rolled his eyes and huffed. Great, just what he needed. “My name is Brienne Tarth, my boss was Renly Baratheon,”

“Stannis Baratheon's brother?” Jaime thought of the stone face fellow cult member, and his laughing brother whose case had long since gone cold.

“Stannis and Renly hated each other,” Brienne carried on, “Stannis disapproved of Renly's ...lifestyle,”

“You mean Stannis is a bigoted prig?”

“Exactly,”

“Well that's hardly news,” Jaime nodded, “Continue,”

“Stannis was running for congress at the time, and he was worried that Renly's behaviour was harming his campaign, it didn't exactly mesh with Stannis's family values,”

“And you think Stannis and his cult have something to do with Renly's death?” Jaime probed.

“The first full moon after Stannis joined the cult, Renly was murdered,” Brienne's lips pursed, “But I only found out about the cult until a year later, when Davos Seaworth came to me. His god-daughter Shireen Baratheon went missing,”

“Stannis's daughter?”

“Stannis wouldn't tell Davos where she has gone. Before she went missing, both he and his wife grew increasingly erratic and started talking about.... making sacrifices and giving up what they love most for the good of the world,”

Jaime swore. Before he attended the cult meeting he would have dismissed Brienne's theory as paranoid rambling. But after seeing the fervour in the cultists eyes and the thick black leeches sucked at their blood he could believe anything of these people.

“You believe that Stannis and Selyse Baratheon are going to burn their daughter as an offering to get Stannis more political power?”

Brienne nodded, face white and taut.

“That's mad,” Jaime said.

“It's the truth!” Brienne cried desperately.

“Tarth, this whole situations is mad. That's why I believe you,”

A smile of pure relief blossomed on Brienne's face.

“So what are we going to do?” she asked eagerly.

“ _I_ am going to drop you off at home and _you_ will give me everything you know about the cult. Then I will handle this case myself and you will keep out of it,”

“ _What_?”

“I am not dragging a civilian into this,” Jaime said sharply, “Not when lives are at stake. You are keeping out of this,”

Brienne turned to the window, glowering at her reflection. “We shall see about that,” she muttered.

#

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” Jaime swore.

Try as he might, he had been unable to discover the date of the intended sacrifice. No one he subtly tried to ask would let slip. Perhaps even they did not know. But seeing the pyre built before him gave him an inkling it was to be today.

He had alerted the police, but there was no knowing if they would get there in time. They had surrounded the sight of the church ever since Jaime informed them of Shireen's disappearance. But Jaime had found himself being led out into the depths of the woods along with fellow hooded members and it was miles before he had the opportunity to update his colleagues on his position.

Of course he only ended up being caught and brought to his knees with a blow to the groin. One of the largest cultists had him in his grip, ready to be tossed onto the pyre along with the Baratheon girl.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

All in all, not a good day.

He watched in dizzying horror as Shireen, a girl of ten dressed in a long white dress, was lead out hand in hand with her mother and father. She looked wary and confused, questioning her parents under her breath, only to be gently hushed by her parents.

Jaime caught the exact moment the girl saw the pyre and realised what was happening to her. Her eyes grew wide and she gave a slight shake to the head. She took a step back, then another. At a nod from Melisandre, two burly cultists stepped forward and lifted the now screaming girl onto the pyre.

“Be brave my daughter!” Selyse cried. Stannis only watched silently.

Jaime found himself fighting futilely against his guard, screaming obscenities as a lit torch was passed among the followers.

“Quiet Lannister,” his guard ordered, “Shut it and we will slit your throat before throwing you to the flames,”

But all Jaime could see was the child, begging her parents not to do this. Begging them to make it all stop as the torch grew closer and closer to the pyre. Jaime watched her, transfixed and sickened.

“Don't do this!” he cried, “You can have me! Just leave her alone. _Please,”_

Melisandre regarded Jaime sadly. “For her father to succeed in ridding this world of filth, he must offer up what is dearest to him. His daughter. It is sad but it must be done, to appease the Lord of Light. For he gives us life, and it is his to take. Just as Stannis and Selyse gave Shireen life, it is their own to take,”

“Not today,”

The cultists closest to Melisandre grabbed the priestess's robes and set the torch upon her. Elbowing her descending assailants in the stomach and shattering their noses with the palm of her hand, Jaime saw Brienne's blue eyes blazing with fury from beneath her hood. She lurched forward and frantically pulled at the shaking girl's bonds. Jaime's guard's hold slackened in shock and Jaime took the chance to dig his heel into the man's foot and storm forward, holding off the cultists as Brienne sought to free the girl.

The cults had numbers on their side, Jaime knew they had mere moments before he and Brienne were overpowered.

But moments turned out to be enough, as the sound of sirens sang out over the struggle.

“The police are here,” Brienne shouted as she was dragged from Shireen, “If you run now, you may get away,”

“They will stay,” Melisandre said with calm certainty, “And continue with the sacrifice. They know the Lord of Light will protect them. They have faith in him as I have faith in them,”

Melisandre's faith was misplaced. They ran.

The police burst onto the sight and Shireen was set free. Looking withered and aged in the flames, Jaime watched Melisandre be lead away.

“It seems they didn't have faith after all,” he crowed, “It was all a lie,”

Melisandre looked up at him mournfully. “No, it wasn't” she told him. And as she was driven away, Jaime could have sworn he saw her hair grow grey and skin turn withered. Shaking his head in confusion, he turned to Brienne.

“i told you to stay away,” he growled.

Brienne inclined her head. “You did,” she said simply.

“Well, than you for not listening,” Jaime grasped her hand, “As it is, you seem to have saved the day. Shireen's life was spared, actually no life was lost. Able to arrest and bring down the cult with zero deaths, not a bad day at all. And I have you to thank for that,”

Brienne smiled bashfully, looking like a green little girl for all her height.

“Although I would have liked at least _one_ orgy. Haven't had a good lay in ages,” he smirked, “Maybe you could help me with that?”

 


	3. Puppets and Play

Brienne. Hated. _Puppets._

Even since her old septa used to perform puppet shows for her class using old, wooden marionettes (during their sex ed lessons no less) Brienne had a deep, crippling fear of them.

Finding herself woken up from a drugged sleep before a crackling old television with a puppet that must have been Satan's love child with a tree only enhanced that fear.

Brienne looked frantically around the room, beads of sweat dribbling down her forehead. Apart from the blue light of the television set, she was smothered in darkness. The bloody puppet frowned sternly out at her, calmly telling that she will have a choice. She could pull the lever and kill them all, or let them live and escape justice once more.

As he spoke, a spotlight came up, illuminating three figures who were lined up on an old, wooden gallows. They stood, shaking and sobbing with gags round their mouths and nooses round their necks. Two she knew. One she did not.

Ronnet Connington. A fellow member of her school's rugby team. Brienne had been the only female player and the best, poised to get a scholarship to the KLU. When his stupid bet with the rest of the team came out and Brienne reported him to Headmaster Tarly, it was Brienne who was suspended from the team 'for causing pointless drama'. She lost her scholarship and her chance to go to university altogether, putting all her dreams and ambitions on hold as she tried to simply scrape together a living.

Stannis Baratheon. Elder brother of Brienne's best friend, Renly. The man who framed his younger brother on trumped up charges of fraud in a bid to claim Renly's inheritance of the family business. The police believed neither Renly nor Brienne and Renly was currently serving a ten year sentence in one of Westeros' most notoriously brutal prisons.

The third, Brienne had to listen to the video to hear his story. Jaime Lannister, who had turned to nearly destroying his liver with alcohol after losing his left hand and destroying his pro-fencing career. A stranger to Brienne, only present in Jigsaw's games as penance for wasting his life.

Brienne had a choice. There was two levers before Brienne. One would let the condemned walk free, and Ronnet and Stannis to escape justice once more. The other would send all three plummeting to their death, Jaime included. She had five minutes to decide, before all four of them were dead. Brienne's heart leapt to her throat as a timer ticked down the minute.

Ronnet was screaming, threats and pleas and insults mingling into one ineligible mess of snot and tears. Stannis sought to be more composed, reasoning and bargaining with her. Through layers of blind shock, Brienne felt a slight ripple of victory at seeing a puddle form at his feet. She loathed Ronnet, but it was Stannis she wanted to see suffer.

But there was a third man.

“Please,” he murmured, “Please. Don't do what he wants you to do,”

Brienne pulled a lever with time to spare.

#

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Brienne spluttered on her hot chocolate. She must have jumped and disturbed her blanket for Jaime Lannister clumsily reached out and pulled it back round her shoulders.

“My brother is coming to pick me up and take me back to his place once the police are finished,” he explained, “I figured you wouldn't want to go back home alone,”

Brienne thought of her flat on the wrong side of King's Landing. Of her empty bed and dark rooms. No thank you.

“Yes,” she murmured, “I would like that,”

Jaime gave her a tight smile and clasped her hand in his remaining one.

“I wouldn't have done it you know,” she blurted out, “I would never have let any of you hang,” she stared at her mug, “But I did want to leave it till the last minute. They destroyed my life, my destiny had been in their hands and they spat on it. I just...just wanted to have power over them for once. To make them suffer and watch them as the minutes ticked down,”

“I heard what those other men did to you,” Jaime smiled bitterly, “I cannot fathom why you didn't?”

“Because you were right, that is what he wanted me to do,” Brienne sighed, “Whoever that was was a cruel, viscous beast and he wanted his hatred to spread to me. To make me like them,” she spat, “I wouldn't let him. I couldn't,”

The lever may have been in Brienne's hands, but her captor was pulling the strings.

And Brienne hated puppets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for samrosie, and thanks to kittles, sarcasmforfree and Weirdaydreamingfangirl for all their prompts. If anyone else has an idea for a horror fic, please let me know.


	4. The Lone Wolf Dies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Kittles. Thank you to Ulmo8o and Brienne Lannister for their prompts.

Brienne ground her teeth and counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then to three hundred and forty two. And yet it seemed with every number Jaime Lannister only grew more and more irritating. He was rude, obnoxious, and if he didn't stop singing along to the radio she was going to gouge his emerald green eyes out and break his chiselled nose.

Both she and Jaime had been guests at a wedding up North. The reception had been held at an old castle nearly a mile from the closest hotel; which both she and Jaime had booked themselves into, much to Brienne's ire.

But destiny seemed to have other plans for her.

(Also, destiny was a bitch).

Just as the heavens opened Brienne's car came to a halt. Try as she might, she could not seem to get it to start. Out in the middle of nowhere, Brienne was about to resign herself to spending the night sleeping in her car surrounded by scary woods which were probably full of wolves and ogres.

When Jaime drove by and offered a lift Brienne was tempted to take her chances with the ogres.

“Look at it this way,” Jaime told her as she sat beside him, bedraggled and soaked to the skin, “You could be stuck in a broken car all night,”

The car began to stall.

“Ah, speaking of which,” Jaime muttered, fiddling and twiddling with the key.

“Seven hells,” Brienne groaned, banging her head against the head rest, “So I am back where I started,”

“Not exactly, this way you get to snuggle with me all through the night,”

Brienne stared at the rain smattering against the window. Two eyes stared back. Brienne might have shrieked and grabbed at Jaime's hand a little.

The man watching through the window tapped on the glass. Once he was sure Brienne was unstrapped and out of arm's reach, Jaime rolled the window down a crack.

“Hello folks,” the man said, “Name's Ned Stark. I saw your car lights from my house and was wondering if you were in trouble,”

“There is a house near here?” Brienne asked in surprise.

“Oh aye, just through the woods,” Ned gestured.

Jaime waved his phone. “Signal is down, any chance you could call for someone to come help?”

Ned frowned at the phone. “There's no way you're getting anyone out here in this weather. But I would be happy to put you up for the night,”

Brienne and Jaime looked at each other. On the one hand they could go with the kindly looking stranger and potentially be murdered in their sleep. Somewhere, a wolf howled in the distance.

They got out of the car.

#

“I really cannot thank you enough,” Brienne said for the tenth time as Mrs Stark ladled hot soup into a bowl and passed her a blanket to wear over he damp jumpsuit.

“Nonsense my dear,” Mrs Stark smiled.

Brienne glanced at the clock. “I should have been at the hotel by now,” she murmured.

“On the contrary,” Ned smiled benevolently at her, “You are exactly where you are meant to be,”

Brienne smiled and nodded, suddenly glad for Jaime's hand discretely clutching at her own under the table.

“Any chance I could call my father?” Brienne asked, “He will be worried,”

“Phones are down,” Ned and Cat said, perfectly in time.

“Shit,” Jaime swore.

Mrs Stark smashed the ladle against his knuckles, hot soup flying everywhere.

“Don't swear in front of the children!” she hissed.

Said children's heads snapped in their direction, joint smiles fixed firmly on their faces. As their blank eyes gazed soullessly into Brienne, she felt Jaime start to shiver beside her.

“So,” Brienne began, striving to appear easy, “What school do you go to?”

“The children do not go to school,” Ned answered, “We home school them,”

“And do you have many friends near here?” Brienne continued.

“Our family are our friends,” the children answered.

From the corner of her eyes Brienne saw Jaime slip dinner knife onto his lap. She wished she thought of that.

“We keep the pack together. Together we are strong. We battle through the coldest winters and thrive in the darkest of nights,” Ned explained, “When the snow falls and the wind blows, the lone wolf dies-”

“But the pack survives,” his family completed.

Brienne and Jaime exchanged glances.

 _'Fuck the ogres and make a flee to the car?'_ Jaime's quirked eyebrow suggested.

 _'Let's just barricade ourselves in our bedroom,'_ Brienne's stern head shake replied.

Mrs Stark lead them up a narrow stone staircase to the top of their decrepit house. Lit by a single flickering candle, her shadow stretched out before her.

“This will be your chamber,” Mrs Stark scraped open a heavy wooden door. She placed down the candle upon a rickety chair and gestured for them to enter, “Sleep well,”

Brienne and Jaime stepped into the room as Mrs Stark slammed the door shut. A gust of wind snuffed the candle and plunged them into darkness.

~TBC~

 


	5. ....But the Pack Survives

The dark, the cold and the creepy demon wolf family sitting downstairs had Brienne shivering heavily as she crawled beneath the heavy quilt.

“What are you doing?” she hissed as Jaime dragged the chair across the floor.

“There is no way I am letting one of those wolf cubs creeping into our bedroom,” Jaime whispered back, tugging off his dress shoes and collapsing beside Brienne. He leant forward and began easing the heels off Brienne's sore feet.

“Your feet are like ice,” he said, rubbing them gently. He shrugged at Brienne's frown. “I have to share a bed with you, I don't want those glaciers rubbing against me,”

“Nothing of mine will be rubbing against you,” Brienne muttered, collapsing against the pillows.

He slipped into the sheets and clutched Brienne tight. She stiffened in his arms, but relaxed as a wave of exhaustion crept over her. She was nearing sleep, when a creak caused her eyes to shoot open. Trembling, she rolled over to face her bedfellow.

“Jaime,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper, “There is something under the bed,”

Jaime's white eyes blazed at her, and with a nod they slowly sat up and leaned over the bed.

There was a glimmer of white, and jaws flashed and grazed at Brienne's hand. She snatched it back, beads of blooding pooling round her wrist.

She screamed and Jaime yanked her into the middle of the bed. His arms firmly pinning her against his chest, his heart thumping against her own.

They watched voicelessly as a single paw emerged, then another, followed by a snout. All breath was snatched from their lungs as a large, snarling wolf slowly crept from beneath the bed.

“Alright,” Brienne murmured, shifting before Jaime, “Pass me your shoes,”

Jaime ducked behind Brienne and slowly grabbed his shoes from the end of the bed. Fixing her eyes on the prowling beast, she hurled the shoes to the corner furthest from the door.

Brienne and Jaime scrambled to their feet as the wolf darted towards the shoes, tearing the leather to pieces between his jaws. They shot to the door and Brienne yanked the chair before her as Jaime struggled to push the door open.

It was locked.

“Let us out!” he screamed, “For god's sake let us out!” he thumped and pounded against the heavy wood.

“I am afraid we cannot do that,” Ned Stark's gentle voice replied firmly through the door.

“It will all be over soon,” Catelyn Stark assured them.

The wolf latched its teeth onto the chair leg and wrenched it from Brienne's grip. Jaime grabbed Brienne and thrust her against her chest.

Together they slammed their palms against the door. “Open the fucking door you cunts!” Jaime screeched.

“Don't swear in front of the child,” Catelyn chided.

The wolf lowered onto its haunches, frothing at his mouth and nostrils flaring. Brienne pressed against the wall, keeping him from the wolf. Spittle flew at Brienne's face and she barely had time to wipe it away, before the beast leapt.

#

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” Brienne smiled as she nestled into Jaime's arm. The sun was streaming through the open window of their apartment, the streets of Lannisport bustling with life as weekenders went about their business.

“I can tell,” Jaime told her, running his fingers through her hair, “You kept me up all night with your kicking,”

“Sorry,” she smiled sheepishly, hair mussed and eyes bright. Jaime smiled back at her wanly, eyes red and bordered in black rings.

“Say nothing about it,” he patted her leg, “Why don't I get us some breakfast,”

Brienne devoured the sausage sandwich Jaime had prepared for her, only noticing the red smudge on Jaime's cheek once there was not a morsel fit for a mouse.

“What's that?”

Jaime rubbed the smudge self consciously. “Just ketchup,”

“Let me get it,” Brienne reached out and swiped it from his cheek. She sucked on her finger, savouring its salty succulence. Jaime tentatively reached out and plucked her finger from her mouth.

“Good sandwich?” he rested his chin on her sun bleached hair.

“The best,” she reached out and pushed him down beside her, pawing at his chest, “I'm so glad I married you,”

“So I am,” Jaime murmured. No matter the price it cost, he was so, _so_ glad.

#

“ _She will be fine,” Ned assured him as he helped Jaime clean and bandage Brienne's wounds. They sat crouched beside Brienne's unconscious form out in the narrow hallway. Back in the bedroom, a whimpering wolf nestled his head onto Catelyn's Stark lap._

“ _You are fortunate it was this month, the night when the moon is longest in the sky. Any other night is a feeding night,” Catelyn consoled him._

“ _She has the gift now,” Ned explained, “The gift of the wolf. Rickon, our youngest has it also. He was blessed at birth. My father had it, my brother also,”_

“ _He had to pass it on,” Catelyn continued, running her fingers through her son's red fur, “Every year, on the night of the winter solstice, those with the gift must pass it on so that the world may share in its blessing. Every over moon they must feed. If he fails..” she trailed off, clutching her boy closer to her chest._

“ _The lone wolf dies,” Ned explained solemnly. He took Brienne's limp hand and placed it into Jaime's._

“ _But the pack survives,” Jaime murmured._

“ _And your Brienne must do the same. It is her duty,” Catelyn told him. “Do you understand?”_

_Jaime nodded. “I do,” he said hoarsely._

“ _And so,” Ned probed, “You must see what your own duty is. What ours is?”_

_Jaime did see. He lifted an awakening Brienne closer to chest, and swore never to fail her. He would do his duty._

_Together, they would pass on the gift._

#

Jaime lifted the phone, fingers hovering as he dialled the number. He had been struggling with who to call, having begun to run out of names. In the end he rested on one of his father's colleague, a vile git by the name of Randyll Tarly. He spun the usual spiel about inviting him over for dinner, at the next full moon perhaps?

Invitation accepted, Jaime settled back with a sigh of contentment. Tarly was a good choice. Abusive to his children and employees, he was beginning to find it increasingly easy to invite such men over. Cruel, viscous and unlikely to be missed. And considering his father's business, it initially had not been hard to find these candidates. (Just as how his father made it easier to cover Jaime's tracks afterwards.)

But his list was growing short, and soon he would have to look elsewhere to keep Brienne fed.

  
  


 


	6. Angels and Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Sarcasmforfree, who prompted Possession. I am not sure if this is what you were expecting, it's probably my weirdest fic and it feels the darkest. Thank you to The1Before for your prompt. :)  
> Warnings for physical and emotional abuse.

Dr Pycelle frowned as he pressed his stethoscope to Brienne's bare chest. Brienne stared at the ceiling, running her eyes along the cracked white tiles. Her eyes wandered along the familiar tracks like a weary traveller. How many times had she stared at the ceiling above her, trying to blank her mind as doctors ran their leathery hands over? Poking and prodding and pinching.

“Tell Septa Unella to reduce her rations again,” he ordered, “And I think, increase her hours in the furnace. We shall burn draw the demon from her if it the last thing we do,”

Brienne felt her already empty stomach drop. Her rations were already scanty, barely enough to feed a woman half her size. When she was first carted away to the Motherhouse, she had kicked, screamed and fought to the last. Of course, this only affirmed her Septa's and her guardian's decision to have her locked away. As her confinement continued she could feel her strength wither away. Even so she threatened and scratched the eyes at every damn Septa and Septon and doctor who came near her.

'Hysteria' had been the original prognosis. “All too common for young women,” Dr Pycelle explained gravely, “Especially those indulged in practising unwomanly activities,”

But then as the days wore on, the hunger and endless monotony failing in breaking her spirit, a more serious diagnosis was made. Her guardian; Randyll Tarly, listened to Pycelle's advice and gave leave for whatever measure necessary to be taken.

And so began and endless round of treatments. Miniscule rations to starve the creature out of her. Sitting chained before a groaning mountain of food that appealed to her monster's appetite. Hours looked in a boiling hot room known as the furnace to tempt the devil into fleeing her body and into the heat that was such as the flaming inferno from whence it came. To weaken the demon's resolve this would be proceeded by Brienne being bathed in ice water and spending the night tethered up in a ceiling-less cell. She was to have no idle amusements to divert her attentions. Instead she was to focus her thoughts on her sins and pray in penance, for she must have been a sinful creature indeed to attract a demon.

Brienne hadn't believed in the demon. Not at first. But sleepless night after sleepless night, woken constantly to weaken her senses and drive the demon to the surface, passed and she began to see him.

He was handsome. Green eyes and golden locks. His smiles smouldered like the flames of hell. He called her ugly. He mocked her. And yet this did not hurt her as it had done as a child. It was a battle of wits, one she won as often as lost. At which point he would bow his head and concede defeat. He made jibes against her doctors and Septas in a tone far less amiable that that he used for her. And as his presence grew stronger he would hold her hand as the Septa's dutifully carried out Pycelle's orders.

Every scratch she ripped into her tormentor's skin, every blow to their gut, he cheered her on and fuelled her fury.

“What is the matter with you?” they all screamed, “We are trying to help you! Do you not wish for your soul to be saved?”

No. Not if it meant losing him. Losing her golden haired demon.

“They are putting me back into the furnace,” Brienne told him as she sat shivering in her cell, droplets of water snaking down her goose-pimpled skin.

He smiled at her, teeth brighter and sharper than ever.

“It shall be the last time,” he assured her, “Be strong and do as I say,”

The sun rose and a fire was lit in her belly, one hotter than the furnace could ever reach. Incensed as she was, it took the arms and legs of every doctor and every Septa to wrestle her into the furnace.

“Lure them in,” her devil advised, “That's it. But do not fight too hard. You need them all close,”

She was strapped down to a metal chair, one that would and had scorched her skin and branded it like a penitent. One Septa stepped forward to light the gas fires surrounding the room.

“Focus,” Jaime whispered, gentle breath hovering over her skin, “Just focus,”

Brienne stared at the candle in the Septa's hand, and kept staring as it burst to life and set the Septa ablaze. She kept staring as the flames spread to her robes and her hair and her skin. She stared as the stench of burning flesh filled Brienne's nostrils. The Septa was swarmed with would be helpers, only for the fire to catch. And Brienne did not break her gaze, even as the heavy metal door was slammed shut with a resolute screech.

One by the one the scream stopped, and Brienne still did not look away. She had no need to, for she knew her demon was with her.

#

“So they were right,” Brienne mused, “It seems I am a sinner possessed by a devil,”

After all, she had just witnessed a room full of people burn to death, and yet all she could feel was pleasure at the soft breeze running through her clean hair and the satisfaction of strong, lean muscles.

“No,” her demon said sharply, “They were not right. You were never ill, nor am I a demon. Quite the opposite in in fact,” he turned to her, strangely earnest. “And neither will you, if you were to join me,”

“Join you?” Brienne asked absent-mindedly. Only now did she realises she was not stood on the cliff, looking out to the sea that surrounded the Motherhouse, but floating above it.

“This is a hard task, and one that is best not take alone. You are not the only one in need of assistance,” he took her hand, “Will you join me? Help others as I have helped you?”

Brienne did not need to answer. She had her own questions.

“If you are not a demon, what brought you to me?” she asked at last.

“Because those wretched Septas and doctors were right about one thing,” his jaw widened and his teeth were bared, “I _am_ drawn to sin,” he raised Brienne's hand to his lips and kissed it, “just not yours,”

 


	7. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ulmo8o :).

Brienne's toes lightly grazed against the burnt grass as the, lightly propelling her ancient swing off the ground. Her father had installed it when she was seven, a sturdy wooden thing that could even now hold her weight. She could feel the sun's rays bleaching her already pale hair and leaving freckles on her skin.

Jaime lolled beside her, plucking at the grass absent-mindedly. On his head was a daisy crown, one he had made himself and worn with a flourish. He tried to make Brienne wear one too, laughing as Brienne reared back and shook the thing off her head like a wet dog.

“What time is your driver coming?” Brienne asked, glancing up at the sun with a squint.

“I've got another hour yet. Cersei's going back to school tomorrow so I need to be there for her last dinner with us,” Jaime shrugged.

“Everything OK at our house?” Brienne probed lightly.

“You mean no less than usual?” Jaime gave her a humourless grin, “Well, this whole debacle with Clegane is getting Dad all riled up. He's annoyed because the whole thing would have blown over by now had it not been so public and ugly,”

Brienne shuddered at the mere memory. She was made of stern stuff, but even she had to hold back vomit when at the annual Lannister garden party, the Lannisters' ground's keeper burst upon the guests, frothing and writhing. His eyes had rolled backwards into his skull, leaving only the whites behind. His skin turned purple and his lips turned black. By the time the medics came, it was too late for him.

A snake bite. That was the prognosis. Such toxic snakes were rare but not unheard of and dealing with them; and the dangers involved, had been part of Gregor Clegane's contract. He took on the job well aware of the risks, but now Tywin was being held responsible and was facing an inquiry in court. Despite being absolutely blameless.

Or so he claimed.

Jaime knew that his father was involved in affairs best left unmentioned. And the morgue worker that declared Clegane's death to be an accident was one of the many firmly planted in his father's pockets.

Still, whatever happened, it was none of Jaime's business.

#

His sheets were going to need changing. If the sweat that he was bathed in was not cause enough, the warm liquid running down his leg was surely.

He was eighteen! He could not have pissed himself, no matter how crap inspiringly terrifying the dream had been. Running around his father's gardens like a headless chicken, chased by the groaning and gargling and axe wielding corpse of his father's ground's keeper. It had ended with a blow to the gut. Even so, he had spent family dinners caught between Tywin and Cersei. After enduring that a _dream_ couldn't scare him.

Jaime blinked wearily at his pants and lifted the covers to see what the damage was, and how much piss he was sitting in.

It wasn't pee.

His sleep muddled mind clamoured desperately for an explanation. Had he been hurt the day before? Was it his time of the month. No, that couldn't be it.

The cut was shallow, but frightening red against his white tee-shirt. And, he could not help but notice with a gulp, landed exactly where the blade had struck.

#

Jaime put the incident from his mind and instead went to Brienne's to help saw an old tree her father was cutting down. His dreams that night was filled of being tied to its trunk and being slashed at by a grinning Gregor Clegane. He woke up covered in nicks and scrapes.

The next morning Jaime forced himself to enjoy a day at the pool with Brienne. That particular night Gregor Clegane reached out a rotting hound from the drain and dragged Jaime down with him. Jaime awoke with bed drenched and stinking of chlorine, dead leaves matted against his skin.

The following night Jaime rested peacefully, only to receive a text from Brienne saying she must have dream walked in the night, because she awoke from a nightmare with a massive cut running across her chest.

Jaime couldn't ignore it any longer.

#

“Father,” Jaime said in a polite voice he hoped didn't sound sarcastic, “What _did_ happen to Gregor Clegane?”

“A snake bit him,” Tywin said succinctly, “And that is all you need to know,”

Jaime lingered in his father's office as Tywin rustled through papers.

“Are you sure, because lately I've been thinking-”

“You would do well not to think,” Tywin snapped, “The matter is of no concern to you,”

Except, it really rather _was._

#

Briene was in a coma. The call came in the middle of the night and even Tywin could not keep Jaime from commandeering one of the cars and breaking to the hospital. Selwyn Tarth was beside himself. He had no idea what happened. Brienne seemed fine the night before, if somewhat jittery. And yet when Selwyn went to check on her, he found her with a massive gash on her forehead and a bump that had only began to swell. The trauma to her head was not severe enough to cause such a reaction, and yet it sent her into a deep sleep from which no one seemed to be able to wake her.

Her condition deteriorated and the doctors grew frantic as they tried to find a reason for her strange malady, but there was no answer to be found.

It was only as the days passed and the situation grew ever more dire that with heavy heart, Jaime rested his head upon Brienne's pillow, and went to sleep.

#

It was in the garden shed at the end of the lawn. Broken glass bottles and test tubes were scattered upon the wooden ground, their liquid contents sparkling upon the splintered shards of glass. Brienne was in a corner, clutching at a steel rod and shaking convulsively. She caught Jaime's eyes and raised a finger to her lips.

“ _He's coming,”_ she hissed.

The door to the shed broke down and Clegane burst in, meaty paws outstretched and grasping for Jaime. Jaime was lifted from his feet and his world began to blur as Clegane wrapped his hands round his throat.

“Hey!” Brienne screamed, clutching a flower pot and hurling it at Clegane's thick head, “Pick on someone closer to your own size,”

Clegane looked round and dropped Jaime like a sack of flour. He began thudding along the wooden floor boards in his thick boots, cornering Brienne. Brienne ducked and landed a blow to Clegane's shins, dodging round and under his arm. Her feet were bare and so she had to tentatively squeeze her way past the pile of broken glass. Too slow. Gregor advanced and dragged her back by the skin of her hair.

“Brienne!” Jaime screamed, “Leave her alone! She has done nothing to you! Please,” he pleaded, “Whatever my father did, it was his fault. Not ours,”

The purple faced giant seemed to falter, as though struck by Jaime's admission of his father's guilt. His hold on Brienne slackened just enough for her to grab at whatever was closest at hand. A broken shard of glass, burning liquid glinting on the end. Brienne raised it and buried it deep within Gregor Clegane's red left eye.

The monster howled and stepped back, collapsing to the ground as whatever poison that smothered the glass took possession of his body and coursed through his veins. His mouth frothed and eyes rolled just as they did at the garden party.

And then he was still.

Brienne and Jaime clutched each other, laughing and sobbing in relief.

Their dreams from that night on were painless.

#

Tyrion loathed mealtimes. With Jaime still recovering in hospital with Brienne, it was just him and Father. In order to spare himself as much grief as possible, he valiantly fought against his very nature and tried to hold his tongue in his father's presence.

Even so, he could not help but yelp an exclamation of surprise as Tywin entered the breakfast room, his nose crusted with dried blood and black bruises around his eyes.

“Did you have an accident last night?” he demanded.

“No,” Tywin said, confusion chipping away at his cold demeanour, “It is the strangest thing. I just woke up like this...”

 


	8. Dinner Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Sarcasmforfree and Ulmo80, and thanks Ulmo8o and December13 for their prompts :)

To an extent, Brienne could concede Jaime had a point. Having spent the last two months living off caffeine and handfuls of whatever starch was closest probably wasn't the most balanced of diets. And then when the case fell through, all Brienne could bring herself to eat was the obligatory pint of Ben and Jerry's chocolate brownie Sunday. Amidst his other crimes, making Brienne hungry was only of which one Ramsay should have found himself answering to. So the persistent invitation for her to come over for a proper, home cooked dinner was hardly crossing the line.

The designer evening dress he had sent over by special courier was pushing it a bit.

Brienne smiled as she drew up outside Jaime's house, a surprisingly homey looking place on the edge of a small forest. She could see Jaime's handsome profile lit through his curtains, and felt a slight wobble in her stomach.

Jaime greeted her at the door, gentle touch sending goosebumps all over her bare arms as he took her coat.

“I'm glad you wore the dress,” he murmured, hot breath on her long neck. Brienne's toes curled in her flat pumps, especially as she spied candles flickering through the crack of his dining room door.

Candles? True, these last few weeks there had been a certain heat between the two, but Jaime's hands lingering on her waist was lighting a pyre on Brienne's skin.

“Come on,” he said, leading her through,” You are just in time,”

She took an appreciative sniff, her mouth watering at the savoury smell wafting from the kitchen.

“I'm impressed,” she admitted, “I was half expecting you to call cheats and get a takeaway. Or bung something in the microwave,”

As she grew closer to the kitchen, her stomach awoke like a lion and began to roar. Only now did she realises how hungry she was after living months throughout the Ramsay Bolton case surviving of trash.

“Hardly,” Jaime snorted, “Only the freshest ingredients here,”

“So what we are having?” Brienne asked.

“Take a look,” Jaime replied, opening the door with a flourish.

The oak table was set with a clean tablecloth, ornate cutlery and crystal champagne glasses. Candlelight from a silver candelabra threw a gentle glow all over Ramsay Bolton's scalped head. Choice cuts of his brain sizzled on a stove behind him. He looked dimly up at Brienne and blinked.

“He's still alive,” she whispered aghast.

“As I said,” Jaime smirked proudly, “Only the freshest ingredients,”

“But...how?”

“It takes a fair bit of skill,” Jaime admitted humbly, “But when you know which part of the brain to slice, all you need is a sharp knife and steady hand,”

Brienne shook her head, bracing herself against the wall as her legs betrayed her.

“ _Why?”_ she croaked.

Jaime threw Ramsay a contemptuous look, loathing sparkling in his eyes like shards of emeralds.

“You know why,” he growled, “What he did to Jeyne Poole and Theon Greyjoy and the rest makes this look like a tea party. You and I both agreed that scum such as this maggot shouldn't escape justice. Well, it is our duty to ensure justice is done, albeit if through slightly unorthodox methods,”

“Unorthodox!” Brienne spluttered, “Jaime, how can you think you will get away with this?”

“Our friend Ramsay here isn't the only one with a rich daddy who can play chess with the law now and then,” Jaime shrugged.

“You mean,” Brienne stepped tentatively into the dining room, “You have done this before?”

“Once or twice,” Jaime nodded, “And each one of them deserved it,” he quirked an eyebrow at Brienne's wide eyes. “Where do you think I got the wax for the candles from? Remember Locke?”

With a steady hand Jaime lead Brienne to her set, pushing a willow patterned china plate before her.

“Here,” he said graciously, “Let me dish you some up. I think you will find the taste is second to none,”

Brienne watched as grey meat was dishes before her, the smell admittedly mouth watering.

Jaime brushed a hand against Brienne's shoulder. “Brienne?” he asked gently, “Do you trust me?”

Brienne looked down at her dish, and then up at her fellow dinner guest, before nodding. She speared a chunk of brain on her fork and slowly savoured the succulent mouthful.

It was only fair after all. Amidst all his other crimes, making Brienne hungry was only one he should have found himself answering to.

 


	9. An Innocent Hobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Weirdaydreamingfangirl :)

Number 1

Her childhood friend Melara wasn't technically the first person Cindy murdered, but Cindy traced her journey of death and destruction to that beautiful starlit night. The two girls had snuck out to attend a concert in a city that was soon to be known for a string of gruesome murders on young girls. They were sleeping in a cheap hotel; stains on the sheets, hair in the showers that type of thing.

That bitch Melara had squealed into her cushion that she had a big crush on 'your totally hot' brother Jimmy and pleaded with Cindy to hook them up.

Cindy smiled, nodded and when later that night a man dressed in a clown suit began tapping on their window, Cindy let him in and pointed wordlessly to Melara's sleeping form.

Out of gratitude and perhaps even out of recognition of a kindred spirit, the clown killer butchered Melara and left Cindy alone.

(Cindy still gets an annual Christmas card every year from King's Landing Maximum Security Men's Jail. )

Number 2

Cindy's first proper murder was her weedy cousin Lancel. Jimmy had been away at University and she needed something to keep her amused. Lancel was a shop no name brand version of Jaime. It was fun at first, what Lancel lacked in skill, experience and charisma he made up for in sloppy enthusiasm. But then Jaime came back and Lancel couldn't be trusted to keep his wet mouth shut. She was mulling over the problem when she remembered the tingling feeling in her tum-tum when she let that clown with hooks for hand (the clown had hooks for hands, don't know if I mentioned...?) into the hotel room.

She suggested skinny dipping and dared him to jump of her balcony and into her family's swimming pool, not mentioning that the pool's metal cover came out at night.

They were cleaning blood off the tiles for months and she missed out on using the pool during the summer months. Really _fucking_ annoying.

Number 3

Falyse Stokeworth was the first time she got her hands dirty. They were at Finishing School together, in the same sewing class. Whiny sneak caught her doing a little “extra credit” work for their teacher and was threatening to blab.

Cindy trapped Falyse's hand beneath a sewing machine and garrotted her with a measuring tape. Daddy covered the whole thing up for her and 'trauma' was the reason listed for her hasty removal from the school.

Next thing anything heard from her was that she had been enrolled in an academy for 'gifted' students.

Number 4

So ensued five years of murder free boredom. Cindy 'graduated' from the academy, joined the social scene and became an interior decorator in a business daddy set up for her. There she met Robert Baratheon, the handsome and wealthy heir to Baratheon Inc.

it was the wedding of her dreams, with and ivory satin gown trimmed with antique French lace and a three foot train. She wore diamonds in her hair and the event was covered by all the major society magazines in the country. A feast of lobster and veal and oysters and foi gras was served in platters of silver as the guests were serenaded by a seven piece orchestra.

Also Robert was there.

Then on their honeymoon he slept with two of the hotel's chambermaids and poodle breeder named Gina.

On their first anniversary she presented him with vintage bottle of wine and the keys to his new Mercedes. Then she sat back and let nature take its course.

This time daddy patted her arm in approval (very neat, no way to blame her) and even cracked a smile at the massive life insurance pay out.

Number 5

Daddy was less impressed by the next murder. She mowed down a delivery boy she suspected of stealing her newspaper.

Turns out he was leaving it at the back of the house instead of the front.

Whoops.

Number 6

A shop-owner by the name of Selene, who fobbed her off with a fake mink coat. Cindy had worn said coat to an important social even and was thoroughly humiliated when after an evening of flaunting her fabulous designer coat only to be called out by fucking Margaery Tyrell.

Selene had sobbed and pleaded like a snivelly rat as Cindy methodically bound her to a chair and piled fake fur coats around her. Extremely flammable, Cindy watched in satisfaction as the entire room caught ablaze, Selene's final words being “I told you it was _faux_ fur, I told you!”

It wasn't Cersei's fault she never paid attention in French and passed only by sucking Monsieur Malleon off.

Number 7

is set to become number 7, 8, 9 and two hundred if something isn't done! Cindy discovered that Jimmy was to marry a leggy blonde by the name of Brandy and began to set about arranging the wedding of the century. Ice sculptures, a fountain of champagne, Fillet Mignon, the whole thing was going to be a bomb.

Also, a bomb.

“By the way, Cindy is Cersei, Jimmy is Jaime and Brandy is Brienne,” Tyrion slammed down the binder before Jaime's dumbstruck face.

“Yeah, I kind of got that, thanks Tyrion,” Jaime muttered, glugging back his beer. “How is it that you only tell me this now,”

“I only found out now,” Tyrion replied, “Our beloved father did a splendid job of covering things up. It was only after the whole Selene debacle did I begin to suspect something and started to dig. Six murders in total, about to become two hundred unless we go the the police immediately,”

Jaime sighed and rested his head against his cushion. “We have to, don't we,” he murmured, eyes shut against the light as his forehead began to pound. “How did you know about the bomb?”

“Hacked into her account. She must have known Father wouldn't have funded her little enterprise. Her google history was 'How to make a bomb big enough to kill one hundred and ninety four people from materials found around the house,” Tyrion smiled, “They should do a segment on that on 'Good Morning Westeros!”

 


	10. Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Briennelannister :)

“Why lock me up?” Brienne demanded, planted firmly in the middle of her spartan spell, “Why not just kill me?”

“I wasn't aware that you _could_ be killed,” the Kingslayer stood before here, watching her placidly through the bars, “It seems somewhat beyond our skills. In fact I am somewhat surprised we've managed to hold you at all. Why didn't you break the walls? Bring the castle crumbling down round your ears,”

Brienne clenched her jaw and clenched her fist. She ignored his question. “I won't fight,” she said instead, “I know what needs to be done,”

The Kingslayer raised an eyebrow. “And what is that, exactly?”

He had to be impressed with how steadily she held his gaze as she said the words.

“I need to die,”

The Kingslayer rolled his eyes and groaned. “Now don't be so dramatic, there is no need for that,”

“What?” Brienne spluttered, “Of course there is! Didn't you hear what I did? To Ser Ronnet and the rest?”

“I _did_ ,” the Kingslayer nodded, “Very impressive I must say,”

“Impressive!” Brienne shrieked, “It was murder,”

Jaime waved his hand. “It was less bloody than on a battlefield. Only five men in total,”

“Each one of them my guests,” Brienne's voice shook.

“Ah, but not very nice guests were they?” the Kingslayer, “And I know their type. The world will not miss them much. Maybe their old wet nurses may have a soft spot for them still, but who knows,”

“That does not excuse it,” Brienne slid down her cell wall and buried her head, “Nothing can excuse what I did,”

And yet even as she spoke, that dark hidden part of her rejoiced as it recalled the laughter fading from Connington's eyes, his red cheeks going white as the swords were ripped from his comrades' belts and plunged into their stomachs, one by one.

Connington was the last, and was allowed just enough time to run before he was pinned to the wall with a flying pike.

Brienne clenched her fists and counted to ten. She had been running ever since that day, and the exertion of always trying to stay one step ahead of her pursuers had helped keep that constant prickling urge under control. But locked away in this cell, there was nothing she could do as the burning beneath her skin grew with each passing second.

The Lannisters had kept her locked away for days, from the moment they caught her. She had been hunted across Westeros, so many noble houses baying for the blood of what could only be a witch. The memories of the knights' bloodied corpses stacked on top of one another, and the look on her father's face, had pressed upon her mind so that it was almost a relief when the Lannister army caught a hold of her. It seemed at long last an end would come.

But here they were, keeping her alive and leaving her to explode like a barrel of gunpowder.

“You _have_ to kill me,” she said earnestly, “If you don't, I don't know what I might end up doing,”

“If it is such a problem for you,” the Kingslayer said lightly, “Why don't you just not do it?”

Brienne was silent, which was all the answer he needed.

“You cannot control it?” he suggested.

“I try to suppress it,” Brienne told him, “To keep it locked away. But there are times when it builds and builds and screams to be let out,”

“So then let it out,” the Kingslayer said flippantly, “Perhaps before it reaches the point where swords go flying. Have you tried actually using it, instead of burying it away?” he tugged off his shoe and chucked it through the bar, “Here, see what you can do with this,”

Brienne was stunned into obedience and sent the shoe whizzing back through the bars, and into the Kingslayer's hand.

“Bravo!” he cried, clapping as he slipped the shoe back on.

“Don't cheer me on!” Brienne protested, “I am a monster,”

“ _You_ think you are a monster, I think you are an opportunity,” the Kingslayer countered.

Brienne reared back, scrambling to her feet. Her lips thinned and fists clenched. “I will not be your weapon,” she spat, “I will not let you use me in your wars,”

The Kingslayer raised a consoling hand. “It would not even come to that,” he assured her, “After all, it was the swords that killed those men, not you. You just moved them,”

“So what?”

“ _So_ , you could move men as well. Force armies to march back home and put down their bows and lances. Children will keep their fathers, women their maidenheads. War would never be an option,”

“To take hold of the lives of men in such a way,” Brienne said doubtfully, mulling over the image, “Would not be honourable,”

“What is honourable is not necessarily right,” the Kingslayer told her calmly, taking a step forward. “I should know, I stabbed my king in the back. Something no knight should do. But sometimes the world does not need oath-keepers and knights. Sometimes it needs kingslayers,” he smiled at her, “And monsters,”

Ser Jaime opened the cell and reached out his hand.

“So what do you say, from one monster to another?”

  


 


	11. Holiday Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the1before and ulmo8o. Loosely inspired by the Conjuring and Coraline (creepy dolls).

Day 1

It is a beautiful house. Jaime truly has such good taste. Big and surrounded by miles of green land, so quiet and peaceful and _mind. numbingly. boring._

Jaime says that boring is exactly what I need right now. After our last case went a little hectic (lots of blood, screaming and I may have got shot a bit) a holiday is in both our best interests. We can both relax, unwind, take in the natural scenery and probably rip each other's scalps off.

I just if one of us kills the other, we do it soon.

 

Day 2

I decided to root around the attic, just to have something to do and to get away from Jaime. I don't know what I was looking for, but a skeleton or some illegal weaponry might ease the monotony a little.

No skeletons, but I _did_ find a creepy china doll. She has blue eyes and golden ringlets and I hate her almost as much as I hate puppets. (I _really_ hate puppets). It smiled at me as though it wanted to rip my soul through my eyeballs and drag it down to hell.

More frighteningly was a bunch of boardgames. I need to hide those form Jaime. He gets super competitive and accuses me of cheating whenever I win. Then he flips the board, storms off and sulks for hours.

He's such a baby

 

Day 3

The worst has happened.

Jaime found the boardgames.

I won, naturally. Now he's off sulking in the garden, complaining to the petunias.

 

Day 4

Jaime is the world's biggest wanker.

We didn't speak once yesterday except to argue over the bathroom. There is only one key and Jaime lost it. He tried to blame it on me but it was in his pocket the entire time (which was incidentally the first place I told him to look).

And maybe I was rubbing it in a bit, the song I composed in the shower and sang outside his bedroom about how I am always right was perhaps somewhat cheeky.

But hiding that fucking doll in my bed in the middle of the night was beyond the pale!

There I was, sleeping better than I had in months (stupid nightmares brought on by PTSD) when I happen to roll over and wake up to find those demonic eyes gleaming at me.

I admit, I screamed. And maybe pissed myself a little bit.

Jaime came running in, laughing and clapping. He then saw how utterly freaked I was and hugged me, something I would not have allowed had I not been a little bit scared out of my skin. He rubbed my back and promised never to do it again. I settled down after that.

Call me a fool, but I trust him

 

Day 5

He fucking did it again.

I can't believe him. He won't even admit it. We ended up having another argument over it and to prove he will not do it again, this evening he locked the doll in the bathroom and gave me the key.

 

Day 6

Nightmares again. Enough screaming to have Jaime running into my room. They were different nightmares than usual. Instead of the normal blood and bullets and horse intestines thrown at me, I was locked in this room begging to be let out. I was so hungry, and so lonely. All I had to keep me company was the fucking doll.

I thought I had just eaten too much cheese, but then this old lady with a glass eyes popped round for tea. She told us that a widowed mother and her child used to live in our house. The mother went mad and locked her daughter in her nursery before hanging herself in the front garden. The child was found weeks later, a mere skeleton clutching at the very doll that I found in the attic.

And now it seems, the house Jaime has chosen for us to have a relaxing few weeks away, is actually haunted.

Thank. The. Fucking. Seven!!!

Finally, something interesting to think about. A haunted house! How lucky is that?

Jaime and I were hugging and crying with relief, much to the old lady's consternation.

 

Day 7

We've been researching the house, looking at old papers and photos. There's a picture of the little girl and her mother, the black and white making it look delightfully creepy. Tonight we're setting up cameras to follow the doll.

 

Day 8

Checked the cameras first thing this morning. It was all normal until midnight, when we suddenly heard a child's laughter and all the cameras went to static. Jaime shrieked and grabbed my arm, he was so freaked. Now he makes us share bedrooms.

Not that I'm complaining, the nightmares of being locked away have gotten worse.

 

Day 9

Jaime told me he heard scratching at our door all night. When we checked outside, the bloody doll was waiting for us.

Ok, maybe I'm not enjoying this as much as I thought I would.

 

Day 22

Still no sleep. Always scratching and children's laughter. So tired. And Jaime still wants to play boardgames.

Have an idea, I kind of hope it doesn't work.

 

Day 23

Jaime and I have had a proper night's sleep for the first time in days. We didn't wake up once and when we did, it was to sunlight and the singing of birds.

The doll sat on a chair in the corner of the room. Jaime made her face the corner, but she seems content just to be near me. No scratching, no nightmares and no laughter. Just company.

“Well,” Jaime said, wrapping his arms round my waist as I brushed my teeth, “It seems we now have a permanent room mate. Still, now that we are better rested, I suggest putting a blanket over her tonight,”

I spat out my toothpaste. “What would we want to do that for?” I asked.

He nuzzled my neck and slid his hands down my stomach.

“I will show you tonight,” he promised.

I cannot wait.

 


	12. The Portrait of Joffrey Baratheon

Jaime stared at the portrait. The visage that looked out at him was twisted and vile, and yet undeniably it was his cherubic cheeked nephew Joffrey that looked out at him.

Jaime could remember when it was painted. His first splash of extravagance on the inheritance of his father's obscene wealth. Joffrey had boasted at length about it, about the fame of the painter who gushed over the sitter's beauty, the golden frame he was going to present it in, and the exact spot he planned to hang it so that his smarmy face was the first thing guests saw on his arrival.

And yet now it was stashed away in the attic. Tucked in a dark corner where none by the most prying of eyes could see it.

If only the rest of his nephew's ugliness was so easy to hide away.

Cersei had refused to see it, of course. Even when Jaime last saw her; stiff and glittering in satin and gold, she had been begging him to save her 'dearest boy'. Even with Joffrey's wrongdoings splattered in ink for all to see. She dismissed them as mere follies, the acts of a wayward youth.

“Sister, he strung a prostitute from his dining room ceiling and invited guests to aim their pistols at her!” Jaime had snapped in response.

“You care more for the life of a whore than your own flesh and blood?” Cersei screeched, white and trembling.

Jaime forced himself into calm, clenching his jaw and curling the uncurling his fists.

“No,” he said softly, “I care more about justice for an innocent woman than protection for a murderous swine!”

The murder of Ros Snow had only been the latest footstep in Joffrey's path to the gallows.

It had started inconspicuous enough. Too much drinking and whoring. Then he began inviting unsavoury characters back home, opening his doors to all kind of filth. Bad, unsavoury habits. But nothing to cause true alarm.

Then Joffrey began hurting animals. And far beyond pheasant shooting. Dog fights at first. Then it was shooting a pigeon on the streets and watching it quiver. One day he was driving on his phaeton and ran a lame dog down, laughing. Jaime himself had smacked Joffrey and clouted him on the ear on seeing him slowly press his foot down onto one of Tommen's new born kittens, making it squeak.

For a while, Joffrey seemed to calm down and return to acceptable levels of debauchery.

Shortly after that Jaime met Brienne Tarth for the first time, the widowed Lady Stark's secretary. A staid, serious woman, all in tweed and waistcoats. Joffrey had begun 'stepping out' with the pretty Sansa Stark. Once a vivacious and engaging young lady, weeks in Joffrey's company had drained her of her sparkly. Her creamy skin turned bone white and her high cheekbones became gaunt and skeletal.

Brienne questioned Jaime openly on Joffrey's character. Practically Catelyn Stark's third daughter, and Sansa's second sister, she trampled over propriety to grind out the truth about Joffrey. In the face of her inquisition, Jaime relinquished what he knew.

Together, they dug into Joffrey's activities and discovered the sordid parties he attended, the 'friends' he made. It went past drinking and whoring, the extent of Joffrey's crimes sickened even Jaime.

Far from merely alerting the new Lord Stark of Joffrey's twisted nature, it became an issue for the law. Even after Joffrey was apprehended, more and more evidence came to light. And Joffrey, a terrified blabbering wreck, named his crimes and accomplices in a steady stream of filth, all in the hope of mercy.

Her received as much as he gave.

Hanging, the papers announced , was too good for him.

By the time the true extent of Joffrey's crimes had come to light, Jaime had near forgotten the boy was his son, by blood if nought else.

And yet the eve before Joffrey's hanging, Jaime found himself lurking in Joffrey's attic. Searching as though trying to find a trace of the baby that had nursed at Cersei's breasts. Instead he found the portrait, the sickly, jaundiced portrait that showed the ravishes of sin that Joffrey's own alabaster facade forgot to portray.

Any doubt, any questions, were wiped clean.

The next day he attended Joffrey's hanging, a sombre, respectful Brienne by his side. As much as this was her victory, her triumphant efforts to bring justice to fruition, there was no delight in her eyes, too keen was she towards Jaime's own troubles.

Joffrey was a tall boy, but on the gallows he shivered like a child. his green eyes seemed wide and uncomprehending, fixed upon his family as though waiting for them to save him.

The hood and the trapdoor kept Joffrey's final visage a secret, but if his portrait was to be believed, it was purple and tear stained.

 


	13. Getaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final chapter! I always intended to do 13, for obvious reasons, and posting on Friday the thirteenth as well. This one is for Ulmo8o, for whom I have mixed up a few of her prompts to get this chapter. A big thank you to everyone who has read or reviewed or left prompts!

 

“You know, a captive audience is a wonderful thing,” Jaime mused as he lingered at the whitewashed window, “Captive performers on the other hand, rather less so,”

Brienne's lips curled as she resisted the urge to punch the wall. The last thing she needed was to break her other hand. She knew Jaime's jokes were a mere echo of his former levity, but they were still enough to take a chainsaw to her nerves.

Being locked in a single room for two weeks with one other man would do that to you. Especially in a room with such ugly floral wallpaper that clashed terribly with the curtains and bed spread.

Two weeks, two days and eight hours.

Brienne looked at the clock on the wall and counted the seconds. In five minutes _he_ would arrive, with food and medicine and toiletries. Jaime will demand to be allowed to leave, to use a telephone, anything to get them into the real world once more.

And then he would smile and shake his head and with his musical, Flea Bottom accent tell them no. Tell them the lines were gone and it was too dangerous. Far too dangerous with those _things_ out there.

Their host's kindness never faltered. Not when he dragged them from the wreckage of their car and tended to their wounds, distracting them form the pain by telling them what big fans he was of their show and asking question after question. He was steadfast and comforting, even as his guests became increasingly irate and ungrateful.

Brienne looked at the clock again, three minutes and twenty seconds. She could hear him moving around the kitchen. His footsteps creaking along the floorboards, his shuffle as he shifted the tray into one hand. Difficult with only half his fingers.

With a nod from Jaime, Brienne pressed herself against the door. Jaime moved towards the window, so that their host would be forced to come towards him.

“Afternoon,” Davos said politely, proffering his tray up. From the corner of his eye he noted the lump in Brienne's bed.

“Soup again,” Jaime sniffed, taking in the china bowls. He made his voice whiny and affected, making Davos feel obliged to answer to his accusations and focus on him.

“Soup again,” Davos smiled self-deprecatingly.

“That tray looks heavy,” Jaime said, “You should have me or Brienne come down to get it,”

“I've told you before,” Davos said with a fatherly firmness, “Too many of us moving around can alert them to our position. I know how to avoid detection, you _don't_ ,”

Brienne tried not to scoff and rolled her eyes. Ice zombies again, just like the ones her and Jaime's characters fought every Saturday night, nine to ten. Truthfully Brienne had met some intense fans at comic con but this guy was something else.

“Look at those portions,” Jaime said disdainfully, eyeing up the droplets of soup, “I don't know how we will finish,”

“We have to make supplies last until help comes, and we still have nearly a month left to wait,” Davos explained calmly, “I had enough for one but for three...”

“Well fortunately you will not have to feed us anymore,” Brienne hissed, grabbing their host by the hair and bustling him towards the bathroom. She felt into his pockets, and produced his car keys. Jaime leapt to his feet and dragged his chair over to the bathroom door, blocking it shut.

Brienne looked at Jaime. Jaime looked at Brienne. Jaime whooped and dragged Brienne into his arms, pressing his lips against her own.

“What was that...” Brienne stammered.

“Just a celebratory kiss,” Jaime shrugged, “What else would it be?”

“He kissed you because he loves you and I am perfectly capable of breaking this door down,” Davos shouted through the door.

“Run?” Brienne asked.

Jaime grabbed her hand. “Run,” he agreed.

They sprinted for the door and they trod through the snow and towards a jeep, relief coursing through their veins as it revved to life.

They drove the snow, the pounding of their hearts only easing as the farmhouse disappeared into the distance.

“Shit!” Jaime swore and Brienne thrust her foot down onto the breaks.

There was someone on the road.

“Do you think they need help?” Brienne asked. Jaime frowned and squinted at the figure. He waved, and received nothing in return. Instead the solitary figure stood straight and still, not even shivering as the snow gathered at his feet.

Brienne flared the car lights, illuminating the rotting corpse stood before them. Men with skin of blue emerged through the trees and stood beside the walking dead man.

“Is that...?” Brienne asked Jaime tentatively.

Jaime nodded numbly. “It looks like we owe Davos an apology,”

“Back to the farm?” Brienne suggested.

Jaime reached out and took Brienne's hand in his.

“Back to the farm,” he agreed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any ideas for a Jaime/Brienne horror fic, please prompt!


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